


Giving Up the Ghost

by asthmaticjedi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Grumpy Old Men, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, References to Depression, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 14:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15559905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asthmaticjedi/pseuds/asthmaticjedi
Summary: Jack Morrison will chase Reaper to the ends of the Earth, even if it means getting help from more unconventional sources. Once Jack finally catches up to him... well, Jack has always been good at improvising.Written for theReaper76 Big Bangin collaboration withzyloa! A separate post containing the art can be foundhere.





	Giving Up the Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by my beautiful, talented, and much-better-at-English-than-me wife [Nat](https://nutheadgee.tumblr.com). Art embedded into the fic was drawn by the insanely talented and kind

He’s in New Mexico, taking his frustrations out on some poor Deadlock schmuck when Ana gives him a call. 

“Venice,” she says tersely. “At least five dead, and he wasn’t alone.” 

“Any of them people we know?” 

“Not in that sense. Some government officials, board members of arms manufacturing companies, and suspected Talon operatives. None of them old Overwatch members.” 

“Got it. I’ll be in Cairo in twenty hours, max.” He gives the Deadlock thug one last withering look before leaving him in the dust.

\---

“I trust your flight was comfortable,” Ana calls out over the screech of the aircraft’s engine.

“You’re still not funny, you know,” Jack says wearily. “And don’t pull the ‘ _I was dead for five years, Jack, let an old lady have her fun_ ’ line because it stopped working the sixth time.” 

Ana snorts and pulls him into a one-armed hug, which he reluctantly returns. “Don’t lie, Jack, it’s not a good look for you. How was New Mexico?” 

“Dry.” Without looking at her, he heads of in the general direction of her hideout. “What’s the intel on Reaper?” 

“Always straight to the point, aren’t you?” Ana says. Jack dimly wonders when was the last time she actually slept. 

“The longer we wait, the more time he has to get away.” Jack throws his duffle on the small cot he usually occupies and walks over to Ana’s workstation. “Ana. The intel.” 

She rolls her eyes and clicks on some security footage. Four extravagantly dressed figures stand in the middle of the frame, deep in discussion. The one wearing the skull mask turns its face to look directly at the camera before aiming a familiar looking shotgun at it. The screen cuts to black and Ana sighs heavily and turns to him.

“I’m sure you can guess who our friend in the skull mask is. Intel says that the other three are Amelié ‘Widowmaker’ Lacroix, codename: Sombra, and Akande ‘Doomfist’ Ogundimu. We can also take this as confirmation that Ogundimu did escape from prison.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Yes, that does put a damper on our, ah, _mission_.” Ana takes a sip of her tea and rubs at her temples. “It looks like Talon hosted a little meet-up with their higher-ups and biggest allies to discuss their next step.”

“Which is?” 

“I don’t have any proof, but…” Ana chews on her bottom lip. “I think Ogundimu and Talon are looking to start a war.” 

“Of course they are.” 

Ana leans back in her chair and gives Jack a look. “I hope you aren’t thinking of going through with your original plan.” 

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Never said I have an original plan.” 

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have one,” Ana argues. “I know you, Jack. Gabriel’s right, you rush into things head first without thinking anything through.” 

“It’s been serving me pretty damn well for the past few years.” 

“Talon’s leader hasn’t been at large for the past few years.” Ana gives him a deadpan look. “With Ogundimu on the loose, Talon is only going to get smarter and faster with him at the helm, and you _will_ get caught if you’re careless.” 

“I’m never careless.” Jack turns to the map hanging on the wall, next to the computers. Watchpoint: Zurich isn’t far from Venice, and Jack is willing to bet that if Ga -- _Reaper_ is in the area, he won’t be able to resist sifting through the ruins of his own creation and salvaging intel from that purple girl that seems to always be in his shadow. And if he isn’t there when Jack is, well… Jack supposes that he could do a little research himself. Chances are, there’s at least one black box the UN left behind that he could find and pick apart. Jack ignores the look he receives from Ana as he slides in front of the workstation, checking on the security feeds near the base. 

“Right, and I’m the queen of England,” she says sarcastically. “I’d be surprised if Talon doesn’t already know that the Strike Commander of Overwatch isn’t dead and is running around the globe as a vigilante calling himself Soldier: 76. They’re bound to have some people keeping an eye on the Watchpoint.”

“I’ll just get rid of them.” Jack clicks off the security footage and pulls off the blueprints of the Watchpoint. “They’re grunts, how competent could they be?” 

“Every time you show up, I feel like I sigh a lot more,” Ana mutters under her breath. “Even if you do get rid of them, he’s still going to be expecting you.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.” 

“Jack.” Ana spins the chair around to look him straight in his eyes. “You’re going in with no plan, no clear goals, no intel other than ‘he’s probably going to be there.’”

“What’s your point, Ana?” Jack tries to turn back to the computer screen. If he wants to catch Reaper, he needs to be quick.

Ana rolls her eyes. “You need backup. I can provide backup.” 

“No.” Jack swipes the files onto a spare tablet and stands up. “He went ballistic the last time we were all in one place. I’m not risking that.”

“Right.” Ana leans against the threshold and gives him another one of her looks. “Because seeing a best friend who faked her own death is much more shocking than seeing your very alive husband that’s legally dead. Also, I think risking Gabriel going ‘ballistic’ is better than you risking your own life.”

Jack ignores her and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He’s most familiar with the northwest tunnel to the Watchpoint, so even if there are Talon guards patrolling it, getting past them should be child’s play. If he takes a left here and then takes the eastern hallway, it’ll take him to the remains of the IT department. 

“Don’t sulk, Jack, it’s not doing your skin any favors,” Ana sighs. “And on the off chance you manage to subdue him by yourself, what are you even planning to do with him?” 

“Put an end to his existence.” 

“Right, because you, Jack Reyes-Morrison, the devoted husband to Gabriel Morrison-Reyes for nearly 30 years, are the best person suited to kill his own husband.”

“Do you really think it’s going to be easy for me, Ana?” Jack snaps. “Do you really think I’m going to enjoy putting a bullet through my own husband’s head for the sake of keeping a few hundred innocent people and omnics safe?” 

“I’m just saying, there are other options we could explore if we actually took the time to think things out and asked for help,” Ana argues. “Gabriel might have an ulterior motive or a good reason for doing all of... this.”

“‘Doing all of this??” Jack barks out a short laugh and downs the rest of his whiskey. “Ana, he’s working for _Talon_. He’s _killing ex-Overwatch members_. There is no good reason or ulterior motive for doing that other than finishing the damn job.” 

“Jack, please think about what you’re doing,” Ana begs. “He’s my friend, too. This isn’t a decision for you to make on your own. Killing him is only going to bring us grief.”

“It’ll bring safety to a lot of people, including us. It’s for the greater good.” 

“For who, Jack?!” 

“For all of us!” _Fuck it,_ he thinks as he grabs the whiskey bottle and takes a swig from it. 

“There’s been so much death, Jack.” 

“We only need one more to put an end to it.” 

“Killing him isn’t going to stop whatever Talon has planned nor will it bring you peace.” 

Jack laughs, his voice edging on hysteria. “You think _personal peace_ is what I’m concerned about? Jesus, Ana, have we met?” 

“Evidently not.” Ana’s quiet for a moment. “Jack, please, at the very least, take a few hours to really think this through. If not for your’s or Gabriel’s sake, then for mine. I know he might have changed, but he’s still my brother-in-arms.” 

Jack clenches his jaw and pretends the water in his eyes is caused by the desert. He turns away from her and begins rifling through his duffle bag, checking how much ammunition he has. 

“Jack, please,” Ana says softly. “I know it doesn’t seem like it after all we’ve been through, but compassion isn’t a weakness. He’s still Gabriel, whether you believe it or not.” 

“Funny, Reaper didn’t seem to think that,” Jack snarls. “He seemed pretty insistent on seeing me dead.” 

“ _Jack_.” Ana levels him with a look, and Jack can see a losing battle when he sees one.

“Fine,” he spits out. “You have six hours to change my mind.” 

“Deal.” Jack doesn’t like the way Ana’s eyes gleam, but he’ll take what he can get.

\---

The outskirts of Cairo are pleasant at night, but Jack isn’t here to sit outside and look at the stars. He has a mission to do. He checks through his duffle bag one more time, zips it up, and walks into the desert night.

“I really didn’t know what to expect from you, Jack,” a bored voice says behind him. “Gabriel was right, you’re very predictable.” 

Jack turns around and ends up staring at the muzzle of Ana’s sleep dart gun. “You really think that lowly of me, huh?” 

Ana rolls her eyes. “It’s not thinking lowly of you if I’m right.”

“I’m not changing my mind, Ana,” Jack snaps. “He’s too dangerous to exist.” 

“But it hasn’t even been six hours yet.” Ana’s voice is innocent and saccharine. 

“It’s been three and I haven’t had any dramatic revelations for those three hours, so I’m going. And you’re not going to stop me.” 

“Jack,” Ana sighs, “has it ever occurred to you that Gabriel used to run black ops?” 

“Yeah, and?” If Jack turns around now, Ana would probably bury a sleep dart at the base of his neck. 

“He found us both before, in this country. When we relocated, we didn’t go very far.” Ana’s face is stony. “My point is, Gabriel has had more than enough time to track us down to our next location and send an ambush to kill us both. Talon has a presence in Egypt, Jack, and we haven’t seen that much of it, despite our best efforts.” 

“Maybe he’s developed a taste for playing with his food.” 

“What happened to the Jack Morrison that believed the best in people? And don’t say ‘he died when Watchpoint: Zurich exploded’ because you might cut yourself with that edge.” 

“He died with his husband, then, because whatever the fuck is parading around the entire world killing whoever the fuck he wants to isn’t the Gab -- _the man_ I married.”

“Jack,” Ana begins. The grip on her dart gun loosens, just a little bit. 

“Don’t ‘Jack’ me, Ana,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry that it had to come to this.” 

Ana has always been a fighter, and despite her missing eye, the years haven’t been unkind to her, so Jack expected her to put up a decent fight. Still, nearly forty years of military and sniper training was no match for a few decades worth of infantry combat training and whatever chemicals the US government pumped into his body. Brute strength wins, and Jack bites down hard enough on his tongue to draw blood. 

“I really am sorry about this, Ana, but I can’t have you compromise this.” Jack squeezes the trigger and a sleep dart buries itself in Ana’s shoulder. Ana immediately crumples to the ground, and Jack puts her unconscious body safely within the hideout. 

The desert air feels more foreboding, but Jack is a man on a mission and he can’t afford to waste any time. In ten minutes, he’s in the air and headed for Switzerland, gripping the steering wheel like it’s the throat of the people responsible for taking his husband away from him.

\---

The air around the remains of Watchpoint: Zurich is stale and cold. The remnants of the building are crumbled and littered with faded graffiti, but otherwise seemed unoccupied. A quick heat scan confirms that there (strangely) are no life forms -- human, omnic, or otherwise -- but it only puts Jack more on edge. The cameras look like they’re out of commission, but Jack heeds Ana’s warnings and stays in their blind spots as best as he can.

It takes him awhile, but Jack eventually reaches the central area of the building. It looks like most of the rubble has been cleared out, so it’s not difficult for Jack to navigate through the skeleton of the building. 

He starts at the pitiful remains of the IT wing. There’s quite a few smashed hard drives lying around, so Jack scoops them up. He’s not the most tech-savvy person, but maybe he could hire someone to extract whatever they could from them. 

Next, his old office. He kept a fair amount of physical files in his office (much to Ana’s chagrin), so it was worth a shot for him to see if the UN left anything behind. It’s tricky for him to climb all the way up to the top of the remains of the building, but Jack is nothing if not persistent. 

Once he reaches it, Jack feels a wave of nostalgia flood through him. There are several smashed and slightly burnt photos hanging on the remnants of the walls and small trinkets sprinkled across the ground, but Jack ignores them in favor of the metal boxes scattered across the large expanse of the room. 

He’s so absorbed in his search that he doesn’t notice the shouting or the sounds of boots on concrete until it’s almost too late.

“Fuck,” he snarls, flinging himself behind the desk. It isn’t ideal, but it would have to do. 

“Motion sensors were tripped in the Strike Commander’s office,” a voice yells. “Fan out and stay vigilant!” 

_Shit_. From what Jack could make out from the hallway, there’s twenty people on the floor, minimum, all in Talon uniforms. All armed and (most likely) under orders to shoot to kill. Jack steels himself as the footsteps grow louder. He grits his teeth and rolls a grenade towards the door, hoping for the best.

“Bomb! Fall back!” the voice screams, and the entire building shakes from the force of the explosion. The dust settles and the footsteps get closer again. “Intruder is most likely in the Strike Commander’s office, apprehend by any means!” 

Bullets pepper against the desk. Jack growls in irritation as he turns the safety off on his pulse rifle, firing blindly into the empty space behind the desk.

“Reinforcements are en route to Watchpoint: Zurich,” a smooth, monotone voice says. Jack can hear the sound of a few Talon soldiers trying to flank him, so he kicks the desk into their general direction and hopes that he doesn’t get too shot up in the process. 

The desk seems to distract them a little bit, so Jack takes a moment to roll a smoke grenade and activates his visor. The office is enormous, so he’s not surprised to see roughly twenty-five people firing in his general direction. The tactical visor won’t last long enough, but Jack will take what he can get. He manages to take a few down before the smoke clears and the visor shuts off, and he’s bleeding a little more than he’d like. 

It’s another round of taking cover behind the rapidly disintegrating desk and firing. Jack grits his teeth as more shrapnel and shards of the desk bury into his skin, but refuses to risk giving his position away by activating his biotic field. Jack tosses a few more grenades for good measure and the building wobbles again. 

Jack can’t get a good angle, so he skirts to the corner by the office threshold, firing at the closest grunt he can aim at before ducking behind a kicked-over decorative table. _Three minutes until tactical visor can be reactivated,_ the text at the bottom of his visor says helpfully.

 _Three minutes. Fuck._ It’s not ideal, but Jack is confident that he can hold out for another three minutes. Relatively. He checks the ammo on his pulse rifle. A little more than half a round left. Jack fires a few more shots at a few soldiers stupid enough to poke their heads out. The rifle clicks and Jack reaches for the extra ammo he keeps at his belt. 

_Fuck._ Jack looks around the room and spots his abandoned duffle bag, with bits of hard drives haphazardly stuffed in it alongside ammunition for his pulse rifle. A quick check to the back of his utility belt tells him he has one grenade left, and a cursory glance around the room shows that there’s about ten Talon grunts still standing, mostly bunched up at the other side of the room. _Alright, here goes nothing._

Jack grimaces as he pulls the pin, hoping it hits his intended targets. 

_BOOM._ The floor shakes again and is followed by a low rumbling sound.

“Structural integrity of the building is compromised! Fall back!” one of them barks.

 _Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit,_ Jack panics. The floor shakes again and Jack makes a desperate dash for his bag before it collapses. Once the bag is slung around his shoulders, Jack hurriedly reloads his rifle and sprints as fast as he can to the door. 

The floor shakes harder this time, and Jack stumbles a little. His chin bangs against the ground and Jack tastes blood as the floor crumbles into pieces and falls onto the floor below him. 

Everything hurts. A block of concrete with a few rods of steel protruding from it pins Jack’s right side to the ground. If he wasn’t injured already, he could easily push it off. He gropes around his bag for a biotic field.

“He fell to the lower level! Shoot to kill!” 

_Fuck._ With his body pinned to the ground and pulse rifle out of reach, he has no way of defending himself. Jack manages to pull a grenade out of his bag. If he’s going out, so are they. 

A single bullet pierces his left tricep before he hears screams and another voice (rougher than what he’s used to, but familiar nonetheless). He doesn’t hear the Talon soldiers anymore, so he sags a little in relief as he digs in his bag more for a biotic field. If the owner of the rough voice killed off the rest of the Talon grunts, they have to be his ally, right…?

Jack dimly registers the growing sound of footsteps. A warm sensation starts to spread throughout his body and the pain of gunshot wounds and concrete recedes. 

_Oh._ He squeezes his eyes shut. _I’m sorry, Ana. You were right._

The last thing Jack registers before passing out is a dark figure and the clicking of his biotic field.

\---

Jack doesn’t expect to wake up, but he does anyway.

“Jesus,” Jack mutters. He’s staring at a popcorn ceiling through the eyepiece of his visor, in a lot of pain, definitely injured, but alive, which is a lot more than he expected. A quick shift on the surface he’s lying on indicates that he’s not restrained, either.

“Rip any of your stitches and I _will_ kill you.” Jack stands and snatches the small handgun from his holster and points it at the direction of the noise. If he squints, Jack could make out a dark figure leaning against the wall.

“Show yourself,” he demands. 

The figure snorts and makes their way to Jack. “I save your life, and you thank me with a gun in my general direction?” 

“ _Reaper_ ,” Jack snarls. He clicks the safety off the gun. Reaper laughs. It’s not malicious, but Jack still feels insulted. Reaper crosses his arms.

“Is that what you want to do?” Reaper asks. “Not that you could actually kill me.”

“Yes.” Jack’s voice is steady. “Gabriel Morrison-Reyes died when Watchpoint: Zurich exploded. Killing you is going to be child’s play.”

“Do it, then,” Reaper taunts. He pulls his hood down, peels his body armor and mask off and walks towards Jack until the muzzle of the gun touches his bare chest. “Pull the trigger.” 

Against his better judgement, Jack finds himself staring into Reaper’s black and red eyes. The wrong color, but they’re bright and teasing like they’re in a game of chicken. The remains of Reaper’s mouth tugs into a smirk. Jack’s hand starts shaking and his resolve crumbles.

“Dammit,” Jack breathes. He clicks the safety of the gun back on and offers the handle to Reaper. “Make it fast.” 

Reaper snorts, pulling his body armor back on. “Keep the gun, Morrison. You need it more than I do.” 

“If you’re not here to kill me, then what the hell do you want?” he snaps. 

“I meant what I said in Egypt.” Reaper crosses his arms again. “You’re so predictable. Especially to me. It’s embarrassing.” 

“Answer the question.” 

Reaper ignores him. “You get news that I’m sighted in Venice, and then you run dick first to Switzerland on a shitty and predictable hunch that I might be there with no plan or backup. You’re just asking for a disaster. In fact, you would’ve been dead if I haven’t stepped in at the last minute.” 

“Are you done trying to provoke me, or is this an old Blackwatch interrogation tactic you kept from me?” 

“That probably wouldn’t’ve been a bad idea,” Reaper says thoughtfully. “Give the ingrate some asinine topic to run his mouth about and promise that he’ll shut up if they give us what we want.” 

“ _Reaper._ ”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he continues. “For getting rid of those Talon soldiers -- how did you get cornered by them, they’re fucking _grunts_ , Morrison -- and for stabilizing you and bringing you back to this safehouse where I patched you up.” 

Jack groans and rubs a hand across his face. “How the hell did you get even more insufferable?”

Reaper shrugs. “How did you get that stick rammed up your ass even more?” 

“I’ve had enough of this,” Jack snaps. He grabs the bottom half of his visor and his duffle bag and heads towards the door. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Reaper calls. “You’re recovering from two snapped ribs, a gash on your right shoulder, and about seven bullet wounds. Even with whatever the fuck was pumped into us at SEP and your biotic fields, you still need a solid night’s rest before you’re ready to go anywhere.”

Jack hesitates at the doorway before he turns around and sighs. “How am I supposed to know this isn’t an ambush? Or that you’re not going to betray me the second I let my guard down?” 

“Please.” Reaper’s voice is derisive. “I already had at least five different chances where I could’ve killed you and dumped your body somewhere no one could ever find. But I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” 

“Right, because your word means so much to me.” 

“Look, Morrison, believe me or don’t,” Reaper snaps. “Either way, you’ll come out of it unscathed. Unless you do something stupid, like trying to fly your airship while still on about five different painkillers.” 

Jack sets his things down and levels Reaper with a look. “You didn’t answer my first question. What do you want with me?”

“For you to be alive.” Reaper makes his way to the exit. “Thought that would be obvious.” 

“You’ve had a funny way of showing it. Are you going to make any other demands, while you’re at it?” 

“Actually, yeah.” Reaper stops at the threshold and turns his head. “Stay out of my way.” 

And with that, Reaper vanishes.

\---

It takes Jack a full twenty-eight hours to make a complete recovery. Not that he was checking.

True to Reaper’s word, Jack was left alone the entire time. No Talon operatives, no local or national law enforcement, not even another vigilante on the run. When Jack was finally able to muster up the strength to leave the safehouse, he was pleasantly surprised to see Watchpoint: Zurich in the near distance. There was food, and while his bag looked like someone rummaged around in it, everything looked to be in its place.

Getting back to his airship and flying to Egypt is easy, too. The locals that do manage to see him didn’t give him a second glance, and it looks like Talon doesn’t have much of a presence in Zurich. The ship is where he left it two days ago, and he does a quick check on the mechanics to make sure that it wasn’t sabotaged in some way. 

When he lands in Egypt, back to the hideout, Ana’s there. A frown is etched on her face and she doesn’t say anything to him for a half hour, but Jack can’t blame her. As he waits for her to come around, Jack checks intelligence briefings from different governments and security footage for any Talon activity.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?!” Her anger is palpable and Jack winces a little. “Two days, Jack. _Two days, forty-eight hours,_ of no communication and not knowing if you were alive, dying, or already dead. I know that you have a death wish, Jack, but is it that difficult that you have at least one person in this world that’s still invested in your well-being?!”

“I’m alive.” He doesn’t have time to argue with Ana, not when he has to track Reaper down _again_ so Jack can figure out what the fuck Reaper meant by rescuing him and then telling him to “stay out of my way.” Ana spots the edge of the bandage covering the gash on his shoulder and swears.

“Not good enough, Jack! What happened?! What was so pressing that you had to attack me with _my own sleep dart_ and then not contact me once while you’re off gallivanting in Switzerland, _which was supposed to be a simple stakeout mission_?!”

“Talon happened.” Well, Europe’s intelligence isn’t going anywhere. The genetics community did say that O’Deorain made camp in Iraq, so maybe Reaper ran to his precious doctor. 

“An outstanding debrief as always, Jack.” Sarcasm drips from Ana’s voice. “Now actually tell me what happened, or I’m withholding any Gabriel-related intel for the next month.” 

“I haven’t heard you use that tactic since Fareeha came up to my knees,” Jack mutters, not bothering to look at her.

“ _John_.” Shit. If she was using his given name, she must be really pissed. “Answer the damn question. What. Happened.” 

Jack groans. “I investigated the ruins of the Watchpoint. Talon was there, too. I must have triggered one of their motion sensors because once I got to my old office, they swarmed me. I fought them off and…” He hesitates. 

“And?” Ana raises an eyebrow, still looking unimpressed. 

“And that’s it.” 

“Bullshit, Jack. I’ve fought by your side for more than three decades, I know you won’t stay in one place longer than half a minute if you have no reason to, unless someone forces you.” 

Jack chews on his tongue and considers for a minute. Ana _is_ the one person who knows his secret and vigilante identity and is definitely on his side, so if he can’t trust her… Jack sighs. 

“Fine. I got cornered and pinned under some rubble. I got rescued and taken to a safe place to recover. After that, I stayed in a safehouse and came back here.” 

“Who--”

“Reaper.” 

Jack risks a look at Ana. Her face is petrified, frozen between confusion and horror. 

“Wh--”

“I have no idea, and I’m going to find out.” 

Ana flounders for a minute and sinks to the ground. “Did he say anything?” 

“Nothing useful,” Jack says grimly. “A few taunts and a warning to stay out of his way.” 

“But he still saved you.” 

“Trust me, I’m just as confused as you are.” 

“Shit,” Ana breathes. “What the hell is Gabriel even doing?” 

“Fuck if I know,” Jack snorts. “But I’m going to find out. You’re welcome to do that with me.” 

“About that…” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, what now?” 

Ana gently smacks the back of his head. “I know you’re upset, but that’s no reason to include religious figures in your swears. As I was saying… I’m assuming you got Winston’s recall a few months back?”

“Yes. Overwatch was a mistake, and it’s a mistake to reform it. Winston and his overglorified band of ‘heroes’ are going to do more harm than good.” 

“Fareeha responded to the recall.” Ana crosses her arms and presses her lips into a hard line. 

Jack’s hands freeze over the keyboard. “I don’t know what...” 

“...that has to do with anything?” Ana finishes. “Jack, I’m sixty-two. I’ve been playing dead for nearly a decade and I’ve barely gotten anything done undercover. I know when to ask for help.” 

“You’ve said it before, Overwatch was broken. What the hell makes you think anything will change?” 

“Well, for starters, it’s a smaller group of people.” Ana counts her fingers. “Also, the world needs us again. We can only accomplish so much on our own, Jack. And lastly…”

“Lastly?”

“Dammit, Jack, I just want to see my daughter.” Ana’s face is exhausted. “I’ve missed so much of her life when I was your second-in-command, and I missed even more after I faked my own death. I’d like to be somewhat present in her life, even just for a little bit, even if it means I join Winston’s little band of heroes.” 

“Nothing I say or do is going to convince you to stay, is there?” 

“Anything short of bringing and keeping Fareeha here, no. This isn’t a decision I made overnight, you know.” 

“I figured.” 

“I won’t give your identity away. Not unless you want me to,” Ana says softly. 

“Thanks, I guess.” 

“Don’t sulk, Jack. This wasn’t an easy decision, and it _is_ my own.” 

“I’m not sulking,” Jack says, affronted. 

Ana rolls her eyes. “There he is. There’s the Jack Reyes-Morrison I know and love.” 

“Sass doesn’t suit you.” 

“Maybe.” Ana barks out a laugh. “I’ll probably take on a more support-based role in the new Overwatch.” 

“Your motherly instincts have been bleeding into your fighting style lately,” Jack sighs. “Not the greatest thing on the battlefield, but I guess it’s necessary for such a small group. Do you know who else got the recall?” 

Ana shrugs. “Probably the people who were more involved in missions, like Lena, McCree, Angela, and Genji. There’s been some chatter that Winston’s looking for some new blood, too.” 

“Including Fareeha.” 

“Including Fareeha,” Ana repeats. She sighs. “I’m not very pleased, so if she’s going to make that decision, I’m going to be right next to her until she regrets it.” 

“Which may be never, considering who her mom is,” Jack quips. 

“Don’t joke like that, Jack,” Ana warns. Jack raises his hand in surrender. 

“So…” he trails off. 

Ana’s face softens. “I’ll still keep in touch with you and pass anything I hear about Gabriel to you. I’ll just be unable to accompany you anywhere.” 

“You sure you aren’t going to have a heart attack worrying about me?”

“I probably will,” Ana admits. “But if I’m lucky, I’ll have ten or so teammates to preoccupy myself with, including my daughter. I swear,” she mutters, “Fareeha is trying to send me to an early grave.” 

“Didn’t you already do that for her?” Jack asks rhetorically. 

“You’re the worst, Jack.”

\---

Ana leaves for Gibraltar the next morning, leaving Jack alone in her (his?) hideout to hunt Reaper down.

It’s an endless hell, poking around the deep web. Jack has little to no hacking experience, and Ana isn’t there to keep up with the ever-changing encryption programs and algorithms government and private intelligence use, so he has to rely on second hand information from neckbeards that fancy themselves to be the next Unabomber. 

There’s no solid intel for a few weeks, and Jack is about _this close_ to throwing in the towel and flying to Mexico for a vacation (which may or may not include his pulse rifle and a few Los Muertos members) when he gets a message on his tablet.

Well, it’s not so much a message as it is a scanned post-it note containing a familiar scrawl and a few sentences where he kept his notes.

_Will be in Japan March 5 -  
15\. You know the drill. -GR_

__

_I figured you might be interested, Jack. Also, try to be a little more discreet on your online activity. You’re scaring the Redditors. -S_

_P.S. He probably means Hanamura._

Ana’s just as puzzled when he calls. 

“I haven’t been in touch with my sources since I arrived here, so no,” she sighs. “Have you been switching VPNs on an irregular schedule like I’ve told you?” 

“Yes,” Jack mumbles. “And even if they didn’t know my identity, how the hell did they get their hands on _a fucking post-it note_ with his goddamn handwriting?” 

Ana shrugs. “Maybe they’re a Talon agent looking to double cross Gabriel or Talon itself.” 

“There’s a name for that, you know.” 

“Which is?” 

“Dead.”

“Very funny, Jack.” Ana takes a sip of her tea and pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re not thinking of actually going, are you?” 

“I have to, Ana,” Jack insists. “It’s the first solid shred of intel, and it’s probably not even from some tinfoil conspiracist that also believes that I’m a reptilian. I’ve been looking for _weeks_ and I can’t pass anything up.”

“Weeks?! Jack, have you been eating or sleeping?”

“I’ve eaten protein bars and MREs,” he protests. “And the insomnia kept me up for most of the time. I passed out at least five times.” 

“Jack.” 

“Ana.” She rolls her eyes.

“It might be a trap,” she says, but even she sounds doubtful.

“The bait is one mercenary, Ana.”

“He’s a mercenary with a highly trained skill set, pumped full of classified drugs meant to engineer the perfect soldier, and classified knowledge of Overwatch _and_ Blackwatch in addition to being your husband.” Ana’s voice is exasperated. “He’s a valuable asset.”

“I never said he wasn’t. Er, isn’t,” Jack mumbles. 

“Jack, don’t forget that whoever sent you this knows you by your first name and most likely your vigilante identity,” she warns. “If they already have that kind of intel, they know what kind of bait will lure you.” 

“Dammit, Ana, what do you want me to do?” 

“Let me pass it on to the team, where we can actually assemble a team to track him down and apprehend him,” she says, exasperated. 

“We’ve already confirmed that he doesn’t want me dead,” Jack argues. “Going by myself will minimize civilian casualties and suspicion. Sending three to six people on a mission to apprehend Reaper in Japan isn’t going to be subtle.” 

Something in Ana’s background crashes and she sighs. “I swear, it’s like being a mother of thirteen instead of one, especially with Reinhardt and Torbjorn on the team encouraging this.” 

“Ana?” a voice calls in the background. “Lena wanted to see what would happen if she blinked while wearing Lucio’s blades and she got stuck on the ceiling.” 

Ana groans. “Let me guess. She fell and hit her head.” 

“Yeah, and since Angela’s on that mission with McCree…”

“I got it, I got it.” Ana gives him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry Jack, but I need to go. _Please_ don’t do anything rash.” 

“You got it.”

\---

Jack’s only been to Japan a few times and his Japanese is passable at best, so navigating the streets of Hanamura isn’t easy. Still, a few confused-looking locals point him the direction of the Shimada estate. If there’s any reason for Reaper to visit Hanamura, it probably have to do with them.

It’s still daytime, and Reaper’s MO is to carry things out at night, so Jack settles into an internet cafe to do some research on the Shimada clan. 

As he expected, the general web is relatively tight-lipped about the going-ons of the clan, except for a few conspiracy theories, ranging from the ridiculous (the Shimada elders are smuggling exotic pets to brainwash into fighting for the clan) to the more plausible (despite the clan’s best effort, there has been sabotage, resulting in the clan hemorrhaging money and other resources). When night comes, Jack slips out of the cafe and patrols the unfamiliar streets for any suspicious activity. 

A few hours pass and Jack wonders if it’s ready to throw in the towel before a small wisp of movement catches his eye. He follows the cloud of smoke to the alleyway of an arcade where a well-dressed man is patiently waiting. 

“Hayashi-san,” Reaper calls out.

“Mr. Reaper.” The man’s voice is pleasant and polite. “I was surprised to receive your call.” 

“I needed an in-person update,” he growls. “The clan. How have they been doing under Shimada Hikari’s leadership?” Jack tenses. What does the Shimada Clan have anything to do with Reaper?

“It’s been a process,” the man sighed. “The clan elders have always looked forward to Hanzo-san’s leadership ever since Sojiro-sama started instructing him, so it will take a while for them to warm up to her and her direction.” 

“The Schmidt-Schulz Industry deal?” 

“Proceeding as the elders have wanted it to,” the man says. “Given our recent hits on our weapons and estate, the elders are hoping that the partnership will be financially beneficial and help them regain reputation.” 

“Have the clan leaders been reconsidering Talon’s offer?” Jack tightens his grip on his pulse rifle. Of course Talon would want whatever resources they could get their hands on. 

“Reaper, allow me to be direct with you,” the man says. “We are not optimistic about their future, and the elders are starting to allow for more… unconventional assistance.” _Fuck._

“And I assume that you’ve been working against it.” Reaper crosses his arms and drops his voice menacingly. 

The man laughs. “Reaper, I am not sure if this has ever occurred to you, but I am also invested in the well-being of the clan.” 

“I’m going to advise you to choose your next words carefully, Hayashi-san,” Reaper snarls. It’s not directed at him, but Jack gets shivers up his spine anyway. 

“Despite your, ah, most helpful advice,” the man says pleasantly, “I believe the elders are making a sound decision.” 

“And _I’ve told you_ that partnering with Talon is a mistake,” Reaper snaps. “You’re essentially handing over all of the clan’s resources and power over them, and with their leader out of prison, they’re only going to burn through them faster for whatever they’re planning.” 

“It seems we have reached an impasse,” the man says regretfully. He reaches for something in his back pocket. Jack feels an icy shock when he sees the grip of a handgun.

“Yes.” Reaper materializes a shotgun and blows the man’s head off without flinching. In the distance, Jack can hear screams.

“ _Here, in the alleyway!_ ” someone barks in Japanese. “ _No survivors._ ” 

“So that’s how we’re going to play this,” Reaper sighs. 

Jack has never seen Reaper fight in person, excluding the one time Reaper attacked him and Ana in Cairo. The grainy security footage Jack has been pouring over doesn’t do it justice. 

Ga -- _his deceased husband_ had always been terrifying to fight against and a boon to fight with. Aim that could arguably rival Ana’s, quick instincts, nearly forty years of training, and being the epitome of grace under pressure made him a formidable opponent. About fifteen clan members flood the alleyway, and Reaper makes quick work of them. Jack can’t deny that he’s in awe as Reaper swirls around his opponents in a wisp of smoke, catching them by surprise before executing them with no mercy. 

Jack hears the sound of approaching footsteps -- reinforcements, most likely -- and swears. He’s not familiar enough with the area to make an easy escape, so despite his unwillingness to be caught by Reaper, he loads his rifle and aims it at the general direction of the noise. 

It’s objectively a shittier battle condition to be in, compared to the one he got caught up in in Zurich, but Jack makes it work and subdues them quickly. Everything goes well until…

“ _Up there,_ ” someone yells, pointing in Jack’s general direction. He sees a bone-white mask turn towards him before some idiot tries to make a grab for his pulse rifle. 

Dammit. Reaper definitely knows that Jack tailed him here, and there’s no telling how he’ll react once they clear everyone out. Jack groans and takes care of the guys on the second floor before jumping down and helping Reaper on the rest of the stragglers.

Reaper shoots the last one standing and grabs Jack by the wrist, pulling them into the busy street. “You’re fucking impossible,” he bites out.

“At least I’m not having a fucking _shootout_ with the local mafia,” Jack snaps. Sirens wail in the distance. 

“Right, because _doing my fucking job_ is more egregious than _stalking my ex._ ” Reaper turns into smoke and enters someone’s car through the open window. “Now get in before I change my mind and leave you in the hands of the Shimada clan _and_ the Hanamura police.” 

The sound of sirens is getting louder, so Jack doesn’t have much of a choice but to climb in. “Didn’t think you needed to drive anymore.” Reaper jerks the car into a sharp turn, scraping the car next to theirs. “If you could call _this_ driving.”

“No one asked for your opinion, Morrison,” he grinds out, “and I’m not in the habit of driving during solo missions, but _someone_ had to decide to tag along.” 

“This wouldn’t be necessary in the first place if you didn’t shoot that guy!” 

“Who, Hayashi?” Reaper snorts as he runs the fourth red light in a row. “If what he told me is true, he definitely needed to be out of the picture. Also, I’m not sure if you caught it, but he was about to kill me.” 

“I didn’t think you would be against such a lucrative offer for Talon,” Jack comments bitterly. 

Reaper’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “That’s none of your concern,” he snaps. 

“Since I’ve been working on doing what Overwatch _should_ have been doing, it kind of is,” Jack retaliates. “Also, what the actual fuck is going on between you and Talon? Last time I heard, you and their higher ups were getting pretty cozy.” 

“None of your business. We’re not on the same team anymore. How did you find me, anyway?!” Reaper makes another sharp turn, uprooting a small traffic sign in the process.

“Less talking, more focusing on the goddamn road!” Jack yelps.

“I’m kicking you out of the car if you keep running your goddamn mouth,” Reaper threatens. “We’re almost there.” Reaper pulls into a dark alley and climbs out of the car. 

“Where the hell are you taking me? Blackwatch hideout again?” Reaper doesn’t say anything as he breaks into a jog. “You know, one day you’re going to barge into a Blackwatch hideout and someone’s going to be in it.” 

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” 

“Of course it is, you crazy bastard.” Reaper turns around and Jack nearly runs into him.

“You know, you’re welcome to leave whenever you’d like instead of trying to talk my goddamn ear off,” Reaper snarls. “But if you’re staying, might I remind you that this is _my_ operation and no matter how hard you’re going to try, you aren’t going to screw this up.” 

Jack considers his options for a while. “If I shut up and not ‘screw up your op,’ you need to answer some questions.” 

“Fine,” Reaper snaps. Jack’s willing to bet that if he didn’t have his mask on, Reaper’s rolling his eyes. “I’ll give you a five minute interrogation session, then that’s it.” 

“Sounds kinky,” Jack says automatically. He immediately buries his head in his hands. “I. Just. Forget that I said that.” 

“Good to know some shit never changed,” Reaper mutters. He stalks off to the same direction he was headed towards.

\---

The hideout is just like the one Reaper brought him to in Switzerland. Sparsely furnished, no decoration, MREs and canned food well stocked in the cabinets.

“Alright, sit down,” Jack orders. “Did you get hurt anywhere?” 

Reaper pulls off his mask, duster, and gauntlets. “Can’t get hurt,” he says. Reaper holds up an arm and it dissociates for a few moments before turning solid again. “Nanites take care of any damage done if I can get the energy.” 

“Jesus,” Jack says faintly. Reaper scans over him and seems satisfied. 

“No injuries besides a few scrapes.” He nods and meets Jack’s eyes again. “Your five minute Q&A session starts now.” 

Jack clenches his jaw and tries to sort through his thoughts. “What the hell did you mean by ‘stay out of my way’ in Switzerland?” 

“Exactly what it means,” Reaper says shortly. “I have a plan. Don’t get in my way.” 

“Care to elaborate on that?”

“No.” 

“I thought you said you’d answer my questions,” Jack says accusingly.

“I didn’t say that I’d answer all of them,” Reaper shoots back. 

“How is Talon involved in your ‘plan?’”

“A means to an end. They’re willing to pay a fee and they’re a good excuse to do half the shit I do.” 

“What’s the end? World domination?”

“You’re hilarious,” Reaper deadpans. “And I’m not at liberty to say.” 

“Bullshit,” Jack spits out. “If Talon isn’t involved with all of this, who else could you be looking out for besides yourself?”

Reaper rolls his eyes. “Even if we were still married like that, I’m still allowed to have my own life and agenda without involving _my husband_. The vows said we’re supposed to support each other, not be joined at the dick.” 

“You’re deflecting.” 

“Oh, so you _did_ actually pay attention to the marriage therapist.” 

“Reaper,” Jack growls.

“I’m not answering that question or the last one, so ask another one or leave,” he snaps. 

Jack considers his options for a moment. “The man you were talking to…”

“Hayashi? An old Blackwatch contact from the Shimada clan.” 

“And the Schmidts-Schwartz deal…”

“Schmidt-Schulz Industry,” Reaper corrects. “A German engineering startup focusing on omnics and AI.” 

“Since when did the Shimada clan have interest in electrics?” 

“Since they lost their intended leader and started being a target for vigilantes,” Reaper replies. “They’re losing reputation in organized crime circles, so I’m guessing that they’re trying to branch out.” 

Jack chews on his bottom lip. “Are they investing, or…”

“Both. They’re putting in a decent amount of money and sending engineers that have connections to the clan to work for them.” 

“How the hell does Talon fit into this?” 

“No comment.” Reaper inspects one of his gauntlets and scratches at a speck of dried blood. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a question for you.” 

Jack raises an eyebrow and nods. 

“How the hell did you find me?” 

“Got lucky,” Jack lies. Regardless of “S’s” intentions, they _are_ Jack’s only definitive link to Reaper, and he’s not willing to give that up.

“Bullshit.” Reaper’s face hardened. “No one gets that lucky.”

“Maybe I did,” Jack challenges. 

“You’ve never been able to lie to me, Morrison,” Reaper grumbles, mostly to himself. “Didn’t tell Moira or Ogundimu, Widowmaker wouldn’t give a fuck, which means…” He trails off and his face hardens. Jack panics.

“Even if someone _did_ tell me, why would I give them up?” 

“Sombra contacted you, didn’t they?” 

“Are you going deaf or did you lose the ability to process things you hear?” Jack asks snidely. “You might want to ask your precious Dr. O’Deorain about that.” 

Reaper gives him a deadpan look. “Good talk, Morrison. Don’t try to find me again.”

\---

Jack doesn’t even make it out of the city before he gets the message.

_I can’t believe you sold me out, man. anyway, Gabe is headed to Oasis but you can probably meet up with him when he gets to Hamburg in three days. Try not to fuck it up again. -S_

He’s not too sure on why S -- _Sombra,_ he corrects himself, if Reaper was telling the truth -- seems so insistent on Jack tracking Reaper down, but the little meet-up they had in Hanamura didn’t end as badly as it could have been, so Jack sets course to Germany and gives Ana a call. 

“I’m not sure why I bother giving you advice,” she says. “You always run off in the opposite direction. I _am_ glad that something came out of it, though.”

“Speak for yourself, I have more questions than answers now.” Jack rubs the back of his neck. “Have you heard of the company Reaper mentioned?”

“None at all.” Ana frowns and taps on her datapad. “All I can find without going into their personal network is some government paperwork acknowledging its existence. They have no internet presence either, which is a huge red flag in my book.”

Jack chews on his tongue. “If I could get into their private network…” 

“You could potentially get some answers,” she finishes. “Considering they’re a tech company, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what how they’re storing all their notes for their R&D team, among other information.”

“They got an address?” 

“I can send you the coordinates,” Ana says briskly. “In the meantime, did you find out who your informant is?” 

“Reaper mentioned someone by the name of, uh, Sombra?” Ana’s face darkens. “I take it that you’re familiar with them.”

She nods. “An infamous hacker by their own right. There were some reports of someone leaking a lot of intel about the Mexican government and Lumerico, which helped Los Muertos gain more control about a decade ago. Rumor is that Talon recruited them recently.” 

“That wouldn’t explain why they’re trying to pull a Parent Trap on me and Reaper.” 

“Maybe they’re in the same situation as Gabriel,” Ana suggests. “Using Talon to further their own agendas.” 

“Let’s say your insane hypothetical is right.” Jack leans back in the pilot’s chair. “What the hell is their agenda in the first place?” 

“Depends on what they want with Schmidt-Schulz.” Ana reaches over to pour herself another cup of tea. “And what Talon wants with them, which we can answer…”

“...When I get into their private server,” Jack finishes. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any way for you to contact S-slash-Sombra.” 

“I don’t even know how the hell they contacted me in the first place, Ana. They just show up on whatever device I’m using,” Jack says, exasperated. “Sometimes they aren’t even connected to the internet.” 

“Like I said, if your benefactor is Sombra, they’re _really_ good.” Ana takes a sip of her tea.

“Don’t say ‘benefactor’ like that,” Jack groans. The tablet balanced on the dashboard bleeped. “Coordinates? That was quick.”

“Hm?” Ana looks distracted. “For the Schmidt-Schulz Industry building? I’m still reading through their work permits, I haven’t gotten to that yet.” 

“Then who the hell…” The tablet bleeps again. 

“ _Coordinates to the safehouse he’s using so you can prep for the honeymoon. Try to be more charming and romantic this time. -S_ ”

Jack hesitates before typing a message out on his notes app. “ _Who are you?_ ”

 _Bloop._ “ _A person very interested in seeing you and your beloved and estranged husband reunite and/or work together._ ”

“ _That doesn’t answer my question._ ”

“Jack?” Ana asks. He waves her off. Ana huffs indignantly, and Jack elects to ignore her. 

“ _Reaper mentioned someone named Sombra,_ ” he types. 

“ _Sounds like a cool person._ ”

“ _Are you Sombra or not?_ ”

“ _Maybe. It’s not important. What is important is that you and Gabe make nice and work together._ ”

“I can see that I’m not needed anymore,” Ana yawns. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a debriefing to go to.”

“Bye,” Jack says absently. Out of the corner of his vision, he can see Ana roll her eyes before ending the call. He cracks his neck and types out a response. 

“ _I don’t take orders from anyone anymore._ ”

“ _Then think of this as a friendly push in the direction you were already going in._ ”

“ _Right. And it just so happens that it’s in the same direction you’re also headed towards._ ”

“ _Talon is interfering with my work, and I’m not a fan of their termination policy. Anyway, I thought you wanted to reunite with your precious husband. That’s why you’ve been chasing him all over the world, right?_ ”

“ _Sure._ ”

“ _Good. Then go to the coordinates. I’ll have the Schmidt-Schulz Industry building blueprints sent to you. Make a tentative plan on getting to their server room while you’re waiting on Gabe to come back from his doctor’s appointment._ ”

“ _Why can’t you do this yourself?_ ”

“ _I’m on a tight leash since I’m actually a member of Talon. My boss is kind of a hard-ass, especially when he suspects there’s mutiny within his ranks. He’s being hush-hush about this deal — which is going to be huge for Talon — for a reason._ ” 

“ _...Noted._ ”

Jack sighs and tears his eyes from his datapad. Off to Germany it is, then.

\----

True to S’s words, the building blueprints are loaded onto his datapad when he lands in the outskirts of Hamburg, about five clicks from the coordinates given to him. The safehouse is on the edge of the city itself, nestled in a quiet neighborhood and away from the bustle of the city. It makes Jack’s skin crawl.

After a quick sweep of the house, it doesn’t take long for him to tuck his duffle bag in the corner of one of the rooms (along the evac route, but not next to any windows and _definitely_ not near the exits) and hook his tablet up to a few monitors. Jack memorizes the entire building floor plan by the end of the day and makes a few tentative plans to get into the server room. The plans develop as the days go on, and no matter how much he’ll tweak them, parts of it will have to change according to security schedule, of course -- given that neither Ana nor S can get a hold of it, he and Reaper will probably have to improvise a little -- so he ends up making contingency plans for his contingency plans. Obsessive? Sure, but he needs this to go at least half decently. 

Ana still calls while he slowly spirals into a weird week-long hole of obsessive planning. She’s still irritated with him for ignoring her in favor of messaging S, so their conversations are clipped and irritable. Jack knows he’s being a dick, but he can’t be bothered to give a fuck, especially with getting intel out of Reaper on the line. 

“One track mind as always,” Ana says dryly during one of her calls. “Good to know some things never change.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Jack mutters. Something itches on his jawline, and he’s vaguely surprised to feel something prickly when he goes to scratch it. Huh. Guess that means he’ll have to shave in the near future. He also belatedly realizes it might be time to raid a local drug manufacturing plant for some testosterone, too.

 _No time for distractions,_ he chastises himself. He pours himself another cup of shitty coffee -- black, just like how his husband would take it -- and settles in front of the monitors again. Plan G-3 seems a little too reliant on using the central hallways, so maybe he can tweak that _just_ a little…

The back door squeaks and Jack fumbles for his handgun. He crouches behind the bar dividing the living room and kitchen and waits for the intruder to come in. Hopefully it’s just an unlucky robber that Jack just has to knock out and leave on some park bench when night comes along. He adjusts his grip on his gun as the light thudding gets closer and closer.

A black coat comes into his peripheral vision. Jack snaps up on instinct and aims the muzzle at the back of a familiar looking hood. “Turn around,” he demands. Jack is greeted by the end of a large, heavy shotgun. 

“How about _you_ \-- oh, fucking hell, how did you get here?!” Reaper snaps. 

“Oh thank fucking Christ, it’s just you,” Jack mutters. “Alright, we can be reasonable adults here. For once.” 

“Yes. _For once._ ” He can’t see his eyes, but Jack could feel Reaper’s eyes pinning him to the ground. Jack ignores Reaper’s snide comment. 

“We can put our guns down on the count of three.” Reaper gives a slow nod. “Okay. One. Two. Three.” He and Reaper lower their guns for a second before snapping them back up again. 

“You’re terrible at this,” Reaper deadpans. 

“Thank makes two of us.” Jack still can’t see Reaper’s eyes, but it feels like Reaper’s glaring at him now. 

“Fine,” Reaper snaps. “Answer a few questions and I’ll _consider_ not murdering your ass and dumping you in a ditch.” 

“Fair enough,” Jack breathes. “Alright, shoot. Uh. Not like that.” 

Reaper huffs. “How did you know I was coming here?” 

“Your friend pointed me in your general destination.” Reaper growls. “They said you might need help with some stuff.” 

Reaper sighs irritably and lowers his shotgun. “Seriously? Sombra needs to learn how to keep their nose out of my fucking business. What the hell do they want with you?” 

“‘To make nice’ and help you out with whatever the fuck you’re doing since it’s ‘in the same direction I’m already going in.’ Their words, not mine.” Jack stuffs his handgun back in his thigh holster and crosses his arms. 

“Well, if you manage to get Sombra on, tell them thanks but no thanks, I generally work by myself or in small groups for a reason and I do _not_ need any help from you or them,” Reaper says dismissively, pulling off his mask. “Now leave. Immediately.” 

The monitors buzz and a purple, cartoon-ish skull flashes on the screen before revealing a young person, smirking like a cat that got its milk. “You called, _Gabe_?” 

“What is _he_ doing here?” Reaper snarls. “And how the hell did you manage to track me and this safe house down?” 

“Oh, you know,” Sombra says, feigning disinterest as they examine their claw-like nails. 

“No, I really don’t,” Reaper shoots back. Jack shuffles awkwardly in the backward, feeling like he’s intruding on something. Sombra notices him and gives him a saccharine smile.

“Hi, Jack,” they croon. “So nice to finally talk to you face-to-face. Also, Gabe, your nanites are basically small computers and I can hack _anything_.” 

“Comforting,” Reaper mutters. “How do you know what I’m planning?” 

“Like I said, I can hack anything and no one could ever tell. Unless I want them to, of course.” 

“How do we know what your intentions are?” Jack interjects. Reaper gives him a dirty look. 

“There is no ‘we,’” he snaps. Jack ignores him. 

“What’s stopping you from turning us over to Doomfist if we do something you don’t like?” he probes further. Sombra snorts. 

“I mean, there really is no way to keep everyone accountable, really,” Sombra says. “So I guess we just have to put all our cards on the table trust each other!” 

“That’s the antithesis of the past thirty years of my life,” Reaper says under his breath. 

“I’ll go first!” they chirp. Sombra looks at another screen and absentmindedly chews their technicolored lip. “So, the initial intel for Schmidt-Schulz is that they’re in the robotics and AI and we all know what Talon wants to do.”

“I don’t,” Jack calls out from the back of room. Sombra gives him a pitying look.

“I’m sorry, _Gabe and I_ know what Talon wants to do,” they say sweetly. “So, to keep Jackie boy in the loop, Talon was basically responsible for the London Uprising and we-slash-they were _thinking_ maybe with Overwatch out of the picture, they can stage another crisis.”

“Financial motivations, among others?” Jack asks. Reaper and Sombra nod. 

“A lot of big corporations and governments stand to make trillions whenever conflicts break out,” Reaper reminds him. “Not just the arms industry, but agriculture and tech companies, too.” 

“Nothing like a gun to the head to speed up innovation and earn ten years’ worth of profit in a year,” Sombra quips. “Suddenly, Vishkar has a reason to swoop in and redevelop war-stricken areas, pharmaceuticals and medical supply manufacturers have a lot more demand for their products, oil companies can inflate their prices and blame it on demand…” 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Jack interrupts. “So basically, Talon’s doing the dirty work for capitalism.” 

“How the hell did _he_ get picked to be Strike Commander with manners like those?” Sombra asks incredulously.

“He’s white and the UN dug the Captain America aesthetic,” Reaper grunts. 

Sombra raises an eyebrow. “Huh. Anyway, sometimes the dirty work is fun, but right now Talon’s just being predictable and it’s messing up my research.” 

“Which is?” Jack and Reaper ask at the same time.

“Who runs the world.” Sombra shrugs. They narrow their eyes and jab a perfectly filed and painted nail at Reaper’s direction. “Don’t answer that with ‘girls.’ Now’s not the time for Beyonce references.” 

Reaper flushes. “I don’t make Beyonce references.” 

Sombra rolls their eyes. “Are you seriously trying to be cool in front of a guy you’ve been happily married to for twenty or so years? We’re getting off topic. Everyone already knows that capitalism wins during a war. It’ll take years, if not decades, for the economy to equilibrate again so I can continue my research, and since _you two_ seem pretty intent on bringing Talon -- or, at least, what Talon’s up to _now_ \-- we should all work together.” 

Jack catches Reaper’s eye and sighs. Reaper gives him a slight nod. “Fine, you sold me,” Jack snaps. “So what, Reaper and I do your dirty work now?” 

“Something like that,” Sombra says breezily. “A better term would be ‘muscle.’ Speaking of muscle, Jack, did you know --”

“Sombra,” Reaper says warningly. Sombra smirks but moves on.

“I already filled Jack in on what I need him to do, and I’m sure you’re here for the same thing, Gabe.”

“Break in, get access to their internal server, start digging for whatever Ogundimu wants from them and figure a way to counter it.” 

“Gotcha.” Sombra winks. “It’s so nice to be up to speed now. Also, once you give me a back door, I can get in, so no need for any fancy tech.”

“Wait,” Jack interrupts. “You both don’t know what the head of Talon is planning to do with this particular company?”

“Yeah,” Sombra sighs. “It’s annoying, Akande even keeps _paper files_ so I can’t snoop. He’s working with new people, so he’s being quiet about it.”

Reaper nods. “I only found out through my informant from the Shimada clan.” 

“Fucking hell,” Jack mutters. 

“So, Jack, you fill Gabe in on your plan to get into building and into the server, and since it’s currently… 0943 on your time, you two can pull the heist off a little after 1800!” 

“What?!” Jack yelps. “With this little time, it’s barely a heist, it’s closer to shoplifting!” 

“Relax, Jack, you’re working with someone who did black ops for a twenty years. You both will be fine,” Sombra says sweetly. “No questions? Alright, I need to get back to work before Akande starts terrorizing me, so I’ll talk to you two after I sift through everything. Okay, have fun! Bye!” 

Sombra winks before cutting the call off. Jack and Reaper’s reflections stare back at them and Jack shifts uncomfortably. “Um.” 

Reaper’s jaw tightens as they make eye contact. “Show me what you got, Morrison. It better be worth my goddamn time.” 

Jack nods, feeling dazed.

\---

more imagery: cold inside vs warm  
Night falls over Hamburg.

Reaper’s quiet the entire drive, so Jack has a moment to digest everything that transpired in the past few hours. Rea -- _Reyes_ , Jack corrects begrudgingly (if he’s going to work with someone, the bare minimum Jack could do is refer to them by their surname), was surprisingly quiet and respectful. Sure, he interjected once in a while with demands thinly veiled as suggestions, but he didn’t insult Jack, his plans, or the fact that Jack had made more than twenty of them (not including the sub plans in case the main plan went awry). 

The car comes to a stop at a quiet parking lot outside the main building of the Schmidt-Schulz campus. There’s a few cars parked outside, so they don’t look too conspicuous, but anxiety still bubbles in Jack’s gut as they step outside. Reyes tosses him a vaguely reassuring look before stalking off in the general direction of the side entrance.

Jack follows him, warily looking out for stray security guards. Even if they were wearing street clothes, the building looks devastatingly hip and youthful, so he and Reyes stick out like a sore thumb. About a hundred meters from the door, Reyes hands Jack out a small, purple device -- _a small range EMP, a “gift” from Sombra_ , he explains -- and after placing the EMP on the LED panel and a quiet _whirr_ , the door opens with a quiet _click_. In an instant, a thick black smoke condenses back into Reyes. 

“We need to be fast,” he says grimly. “We have no idea if we tripped a silent alarm, so I hope one of your ten million plans work out.” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

It’s difficult, running through an unfamiliar building with guard patterns that seem to have no rhyme or reason to their rounds. The guards speak in hushed but terse tones and are broken up with the sound of static from their comms, so Jack can only assume that the building’s silent alarm went off. 

“Fuck,” Jack hisses as the footsteps get closer. He desperately looks around for some cover and tugs at Reyes’s arm in the general direction of a door. Reyes snorts. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Reyes says before he dissolves into smoke. He easily slips behind the two guards at the hallway junction and twists their necks.

“Nothing says inconspicuous like a pile of dead bodies,” Jack mutters. 

“You got any other ideas?” Reyes snaps. Jack raises his hands in surrender. Reyes gives him a _look_. “Try not to use your gun, so stealth takedowns unless absolutely necessary. Even though we probably tripped the alarm, stealth is better than a shootout.”

“I know how stealth missions work.” 

“I do stealth missions for work,” Reyes deadpans. Jack rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. Mission first, bickering later. 

About a half hour and a few arguments over directions later (it’s not like they can walk up to a security guard and ask for directions), they manage to get to the outside of the server room. Jack taps anxiously at the barrel of his pulse rifle. 

“Do you know the exact range of your EMP?” he asks. Reyes shakes his head.

“Best not to risk it. You want me to do this or do you want to?”

“I can get this,” Jack offers. Reyes shrugs, looking indifferent.

“Fine, I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

Jack nods and yanks the panel out of the wall, desperately trying not to think about the time crunch they’re under. He’s grateful for the small amount of light his visor produces in the otherwise dim hallway.

“Any day would be nice, you know,” Reyes gripes as another security guard falls to the ground. There’s a hint of irritation and impatience in his voice, but no malice. Interesting.

“GIve me a few more minutes, I almost got it,” Jack grinds out. The tiny circuit board and wirings aren’t doing him any favors and he can feel the tendrils of a headache coming in. FInally -- _finally_ \-- the door hisses, and Jack scrambles to pry the sliding door open with the inch of space it gives him. 

“Ready to go?” Reyes calls from where he’s kicking a security guard in the gut with his steel toed boot. 

“Yeah. Fucking finally,” Jack pants. 

“Good.” Reyes turns into smoke and writhes his way into an even more poorly lit room. “The Trojan Horse virus is going to take a few minutes to upload into the server, so I need you to have my back so I can make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“Roger that,” Jack says grimly. The activity in the hallway is picking up, but the building is just one for a start-up for a hip tech company, so it’s hardly Fort Knox. The omnics security sent after them are painfully inexperienced, giving away their positions from what feels like a mile away. It’s child’s play after what Jack was put through during the first Omnic Crisis and what he currently puts himself through as a vigilante. 

“Hopefully this is the last wave of omnics,” Jack calls over his shoulder. “What’s the ETA on the virus?” 

“Hit a small snag, but it’ll be fixed in three minutes, give or take.” Reyes’s voice is irritated. “You don’t need help, do you?” 

“No.” The sound of omnics skittering around fills the hallway. “Maybe.”

“You’re not getting soft with age, are you?” Reyes snarks. 

“Aren’t you older than me?” 

“Not important.” 

Jack grumbles good naturedly until an omnic tries to make a grab for his rifle. 

“Fuck off,” he snarls. Deep in the server room, he hears a snort. “Are you _laughing_ at me?” 

“You’re hearing things,” Reyes yells over the clack of Jack’s rifle. Jack rolls his eyes. “The virus should almost be uploaded, so last a few more minutes and be done with that.”

“That’s a new one for us,” Jack quips without thinking. 

“Really?? You’re going for a cheap sex joke during a mission?” 

“Just like old times.” Jack shoots off a round of helix rockets at the incoming omnics.

“Sure.” Reyes’s voice is a little uncomfortable. An awkward air fills the space between them. Jack winces. 

“Uh… Is the virus done uploading yet?” 

“Yup.” Metal scrapes against each other and with a puff of smoke, Reaper is in front of Jack. “Time to bust out of here.” 

“Finally,” Jack mutters. He can feel the irritated glare through his mask. Reyes groans and drags Jack towards the direction they came in. “I’ll watch your six...” 

“...and I’ll watch yours,” Reyes finishes. 

Security seems to be picking up a little more as Jack and Reyes sprint towards the next exit. 

“Watch your three, there’s security filling up in that hallway,” Reyes says grimly.

“Got it.” They’re far enough from the server room, so Jack yanks the pin off a grenade and tossed it towards the incoming omnics. “Move fast.” 

“Roger.” The building shakes under the force of the bomb and Jack stumbles into Reyes’s back.

 _Fuck,_ Jack thinks. His back -- and probably the rest of his body -- is _freezing_ , even compared to the frigid and well air conditioned hallway.

“Not exactly the time to get a little handsy, Morrison. Hard right and we’re home free,” Reyes directs. Jack nods, still reeling from the cold. 

The gentle warmth of the night greets them as they burst through the exit and slide into the small, dark car their stole. “Drive, I’ll watch our tail,” Jack orders. 

“Got it.” The car accelerates and the omnics’ bullets ricochet off the back of the car. The back windshield shatters with a _ping_ and Reyes turns to give Jack a _look._ “Morrison…”

“I got this.” Jack waves a flippant hand in his general direction and rolls down the window, wiggling himself through the opening.

“What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bastard?” Reyes yelps. 

“Covering us, assuming you’re getting us out of here sometime in the next century,” Jack snipes as he reaches for the rest of his regular and smoke grenades. It’s been a while since he’s had to throw something this far, but the whole “enhancement” thing has to be good for something, right? “Hope you’re familiar with Hamburg streets.” 

“You _know_ I’ve always had a bad sense of directions, you _absolute batshit crazy son of a_ \--” 

_BOOM._

A much louder explosion ripples through the city, and a stray shard of shrapnel tears through Jack’s leather jacket and buries itself into his shoulder. He instinctively slaps a hand over it, nearly stumbling off the car as it takes a hard right. A cold but familiar grasp catches his arm and drags him back into the safety of the car.

“Jesus, I really have to have one eye on the mission and the other on your dumb ass, don’t I?” Reyes mutters. 

“Like you said,” Jack jokes, “Just like old times.” 

Reyes sighs, but it hinges more on the affectionate side than irritated. He tosses a glance that’s well disguised as a glare. Reyes swears. “Fuck, that’s a lot of blood.” 

“Had worse,” Jack grunts. It’s true. Sure, with the amount of blood on his hand and clothes, the shrapnel _may_ have hit his right subclavian artery, but as far as battlefield injuries went, he’s had worse. He presses the wound a little harder, hoping to stem the flow a little bit. The shrapnel digs in a little deeper and he sucks air in through clenched teeth. 

“No biotic field, yeah?”

Jack shakes his head. “Stealth mission. Would give our position away. Plus.” Jack tries to smile, but he could feel it translate into a grimace. “I got backup.” 

“Fucking insane,” Reyes mutters again.

\---

“How is it?” Reyes asks when they step inside the safe house.

“Not bad,” Jack admits, “but I’d like to get this healed as soon as possible.” 

Reyes _tsks_ and points at the couch. “Sit. I’ll get a first aid kit.” 

“I can do it myself,” Jack protests feebly. Reyes raises an eyebrow.

“Do you want to?”

Jack hesitates. Maybe it’s the nostalgia of seeing his (sort of ex) husband’s face again or the quiet, intimate glow and warmth of the spartan living room; whatever it is, it makes him shake his head. The corner of Reyes’s mouth tugs up a little and he points at the couch again.

“Like I said. Sit.” 

Jack settles into the couch and slowly peels off his jacket and shirt, careful not to jostle the injury. Blood cakes on the the fabric, but he figures that it’s nothing a little hydrogen peroxide and/or a patch can’t handle. 

Reyes appears in the doorway, holding a white box and a steaming bowl. “Ready?” 

“As much as I’ll ever be,” Jack sighs. Reyes sits down next to him and gently pries the shrapnel out. Jack swears.

“Don’t be a baby,” Reyes says absentmindedly. “Also, you were a few millimeters from a severed artery. You’re lucky it’s just a small nick.” 

“No such thing as luck,” Jack argues weakly. Reyes’s cold breath dulls the pain a little. 

Reyes shrugs as he reaches for the antiseptic. “Just an expression. Hold still.” 

“ _Shit._ ” The antiseptic stings a little more than Jack expected, and his fingers dig into the couch a little. “Almost done?”

“Sure,” Reyes says through a surgical needle and thread. “C’mere. I need to close that artery up.”

Jack scoots closer to Reyes and ducks his head out of his way. Just like how he fights, Reyes is quick and precise in first-aid, and Jack feels a wave of nostalgia. 

_“You’re an idiot,” Jack laughed. “Who the hell goes out to the middle of no-man’s-land to take out the E54 Bastions blocking the way to the omnium?”_

_“Someone who’s not a bitch baby, that’s who.” Gabe grins with easy camaraderie despite the wounds on his side. Jack rolls his eyes and tugs him onto the cot._

_“Sit,” Jack ordered. “The doctor will see you now.”_

_“Sexy,” Gabe said, wiggling his eyebrows. “What kind of exam will we be doing today, doc?”_

_“One where we’ll be removing bullets from your goddamn body. Now take off your shirt.”_

_“Oh, very hot.”_

_Jack rolled his eyes. “You’re a terrible patient. Breathing okay in your sports bra?”_

_Gabe waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine. Just patch me up.”_

_He couldn’t resist those words or that smile, so Jack acquiesced and removed the bullets with a quiet_ clink. _Gabe sucked a breath in as Jack closed the holes riddling his skin. Jack snipped the extra thread and patted Gabe’s leg sympathetically. “All done.”_

_“Thank god,” Gabe sighed. “Not that you’re a bad medic. Just prefer to not have injuries.”_

_“I like you without injuries a lot more, too.”_

_“Sap,” Gabe teased. “Since I can’t get a painkiller, can I get a kiss?”_

_“Always.”_

_The kiss was short but sweetly intimate. Gabe broke it off and gave Jack a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Jack.”_

“Jack?” 

Jack shakes his head and blinks hard. “What?”

“I said, ‘I’m done, we can let the biotic field do the rest.’” Reyes strips off the blood stained gloves and packs the medical kit up. Jack blatantly realizes his right shoulder is wrapped in gauze and bandages. “In your bag, right?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, feeling dazed. Reyes tosses it to him and Jack barely manages to catch it. Reyes rolls his eyes.

“I just patched you up, you jackass, don’t rip anything.” 

“Sure.” Jack clicks the biotic field on and winces a little. “Hey, Reyes.”

“Hm?”

“You got an ice pack?” 

He shakes his head. “I’ve been told I run cold nowadays,” he offers. 

Jack considers his options before nodding. “Sure.” 

Reyes sits next to Jack and gingerly places a hand over the fresh injury. “Better?”

“Yeah.” And it really was. Jack’s husband usually ran pretty warm ( _I lived in LA, most of us do_ , he told Jack once), but Reyes’s cold hand helped soothe the stinging heat of the biotic field a little bit. “Reyes?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What happened to us?” 

Reyes pauses. “We married our jobs about a month after our honeymoon.” 

Jack huffs out a laugh. “Fuck, you’re right.” 

“Do you regret it?” Reyes asks after a moment. 

“Our jobs or the marriage?” 

“Both.” 

Jack winces, remembering the long shouting matches near the end, requesting his assistants to discreetly book a hotel room so he wouldn’t have to face his husband, a string of unanswered voicemails, and the awkward marriage counseling with a UN-vetted therapist. “The job just felt _right_ at the time.” 

“But,” Reyes prompts.

Jack also remembers the zing of attraction when they first met in basic, the comfort of his then-boyfriend’s body against his as they both felt like they were dying from the classified chemical cocktail injected under their skin, determination to see the war end so they could start a life together, and the shocked but content glow as they slid matching bands onto their fingers. The stolen kisses in between meetings and the flower bouquets and extravagant gifts after a particularly rough fight, shortly followed with a quiet, heartfelt apology. “It _was_ the reason why the marriage fell apart. And the marriage was nice. Well. When we talked. Before the job got in the way.” 

Reyes barks out a laugh. “Yeah, it was nice when we talked.” 

Jack laughs and winces as his skin tugs against the stitches. “Fuck.” 

“Careful,” Reyes chastises. They’re quiet for another moment before Reyes speaks up again. “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret it either. The marriage, I mean.” 

“That’s nice to know. Really,” Jack murmurs. He relaxes into the couch and Reyes’s touch before falling asleep.

\---

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!”

“Jesus fuck,” Jack wheezes. The screen giggles and reflexively shoves Reyes’s head, which was cushioned by Jack’s almost-healed chest. _Sombra_. “Couldn’t go with a more subtle alarm, could you?”

“You were in the military. Shouldn’t you be used to loud and random alarms?” they ask, examining their nails with feigned disinterest. 

“In our defense, we expected loud and random alarms when we were in the military. Now, not so much,” Reyes groans. 

“Yeah, yeah, excuses.” Sombra rolls her eyes. “anyway, I did some research all night. Thanks for getting me in, by the way.” 

“I’d like to say it wasn’t a problem.” Jack winces as he rolls out his almost-healed shoulder. “I’d like to.” 

Sombra clicks her tongue. “You’re awful. I’m never working with you again, if I can help it.” 

“Back on topic.” In a flash, Reyes is out of last night’s inconspicuous street clothes and into his usual edgelord getup. “Brief us.” 

“Ugh, so impatient,” Sombra complains. “Alright, alright. So, Schmidt-Schulz is mostly doing your standard AI and robotics startups do. You know, making smaller, faster robots to put surgeons out of a job, ones designed to explore space, you know, like _Star Trek_ but only with robots…” 

“Sombra,” Reyes says warningly. 

“Like I said, impatient. You’re lucky you’re useful,” Sombra says, wiggling their eyebrows. “Like I was saying before _someone_ butted in, most of their R &D are doing anything to make them profitable. The rest of them are doing something else.” 

“You’re stalling,” Jack breaks in.

Sombra groans. “Now I know why you two married each other. You’re both insufferable. Also, I’m not _stalling_.” 

“If you aren’t stalling, then what are you doing?” Reyes snaps.

“Building the anticipation!” 

“I’m at the edge of my seat. Get to the point or I’m flying to your HQ in Dorado to make you,” Reyes threatens. Sombra snickers. 

“Fine, fine. The point I was _trying_ to make is that for a _lot_ of money, Akande hired two very small teams to do very similar research for him. One is developing better and newer omnics for military purposes. Ones that are fully automated, outlast heavy radiation, and can resist an EMP.”

“Guessing that’s for Omnic War, round two,” Jack says. 

“Give the man a prize,” Sombra says, spreading her arms out. “The second team is also developing something for the next Omnic War.” Their eyes gleam in the low light of their many computer monitors. “A new God Program.” 

Jack pales and glances at Reyes. His face is impassive, but Jack could see the smallest bit of tension in his jaw. 

“New God Program, huh?” Reyes sighs. 

“Yup,” Sombra says, popping the ‘p.’ “Harder to hack, and has a learning protocol too.” 

“So if someone tries to hack into it…” Jack trails off. Sombra nods.

“It’ll block the hacker out and put up a few hundred precautions to combat it again. Kind of like a hydra. Hey.” Sombra brightens. “That would make a cool name for an AI like that. You think I could sell that to some sap?”

“You could steal ten times the amount of money from some brat who runs their uncle’s hedge fund,” Reyes says dryly. 

“I knew I kept you around for something,” Sombra croons. 

Reyes rolls his eyes. “Back on topic. It has a safeguard, right?” 

“That’s what they’re working on right now. Unsuccessfully.” 

Jack whistles. “That sounds like a problem. No fail safe in case their capitalist friends need a bailout?” 

Sombra shrugs. “Like I said, work in progress. I’ll be working on my own failsafe so I can shut this down before it picks up any traction and mess up about twenty years of research, so, you know, lots to do with a strict deadline and all of that. No time to talk now, I have an upcoming robot war to hack.”

“Then leave,” Reyes deadpans. 

“Jeez, suddenly now you’re desperate to be alone with stale Wonder Bread over here? I see how it is.” Sombra throws a hand dramatically at their forehead. “Like I said, gotta go. Talk to you two later, maybe. Depends if I need something from you two in the near future.” They wink mischievously and holds up and index finger to the camera. “Boop.” 

“You sure know how to pick coworkers,” Jack says after a brief moment of silence. 

“Trust me, I don’t like working with them,” Reyes says grimly. “Strong willed and cocky enough to defy direct orders. Even worse, they’re crafty enough to evade accountability most of the time.”

“Sounds familiar.” 

Reyes groans. “Don’t start. Moira’s been laughing at me for ‘picking up wayward children with their own definition and rationalization of morality.’” 

Jack tenses at the name and the air suddenly feels colder. “You’re still seeing her, even after all these years.” 

“...Yes.” Jack doesn’t say anything, which only seems to upset Reyes. “I don’t have to explain myself to _you_ anymore.” 

“No, I guess not.” Jack knows he’s being a dick, but he can’t help his weird jealousy at the strange intimacy between Reyes and O’Deorain. He knows that it isn’t anything close to romantic or sexual in nature -- if Jack recalls correctly, O’Deorain seemed to be fairly fond of Angela, professional curiosity and interest aside -- but knowing about the late night sessions between the two and the fact that _O’Deorain knows something about his husband that Jack, Gabriel Morrison-Reyes’s loving and faithful husband doesn’t_ \-- 

Jack stops himself, acutely aware of the uncomfortable space between them and the awkward silence. Reyes clears his throat. “So, uh.” 

“Why didn’t you?” Jack asks suddenly. 

“Why didn’t I what?” 

“Explain yourself. Contracting O’Deorain for all of…” Jack gestures to Reyes’s body. “This. When we were still together.” Reyes is silent, which only frustrates him even more. “We still had each other’s backs then. I asked you to make the calls I couldn’t do as Strike Commander. I just --” _I just don’t understand where we went wrong_ , Jack wants to say.

“Sheer panic, probably.” Reyes shrugs. “There’s not really a way to tell your weirdly protective husband that you may or may not be dying because of that weird experimental shit mandated by the American government. Guess I wanted to be poked at like an animal experiment on my own terms, for once.” 

“Oh.” 

“Why didn’t you trust me that I could do the right thing?” 

“I think you phrased it best when you called me ‘weirdly protective,’” Jack jokes weakly. 

They both laugh. “Did you notice?” Reyes asks.

“Notice what you were going through?”

“Yeah.” 

“Kind of,” Jack admitted. “When you brought Moira onto Blackwatch, I remember wanting to go over to your office and shake you until you told me what the hell you were thinking.” 

“But,” Reyes prompts.

“But,” Jack agrees, “Work got in the way. Had to be convinced our talents could be used here, go to this budget meeting… Jesus fuck, Gabe.” The familiar nickname slips out without him realizing it. Jack could see him tense a little out of the corner of his eye. “We used to be soldiers, out on the front line. When the fuck did we become bureaucrats?”

“I think the better question is when did _you_ become a bureaucrat,” Reyes says dryly.

“That’s fair.” Jack leans his head on the couch cushion and remembers better, more simple times. “I think I prefer Commander Reyes and Captain Morrison over Strike Commander Morrison and Blackwatch Commander Reyes.” 

“Frankly, I prefer Jack Reyes-Morrison and Gabriel Morrison-Reyes over them.”

“Always gotta one-up me, huh?” 

“If I don’t, no one else will.” Reyes gives him a weak smile. Jack watches as Reyes picks at something on his gauntlet. “I miss this, you know.” 

Jack feels a stab of surprise. “I miss this too. All of this. Talking, doing whatever we want. Fuck, just being together without wondering if it would end in a hospital trip or a bullet in someone’s head.”

“We’ve been doing pretty well on the latter, if you don’t count people that aren’t us,” Reyes says lightly. “Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah?” It takes him a while to even register that Reyes -- fuck, if he’s calling Jack by his first name, intentional or not, maybe Jack can start calling him by his first name, too -- _Gabriel_ even said his first name without any hint of malice. 

“Do you think that Soldier: 76 and Reaper might work out?” Gabriel’s voice is quiet, almost timid.

Jack hesitates. “Maybe. They seem to have similar goals, even if they think the other’s method is _absolutely insane_.” 

Gabriel makes a face that almost looks like a pout. “Hey. It took me less than a year to get into Talon’s inner circle.” 

“Not close enough, if you had to find out about this whole thing through an old Blackwatch informant,” Jack teases.

“Shut up,” Gabriel says without any malice. “You’re not answering the question, though.”

“I got interrupted.” Gabriel gives him a shrug and a smirk but doesn’t say anything, so Jack continues. “I don’t know what kind of responsibilities Reaper has, but Soldier: 76 is pretty much a free agent.” 

“Reaper is a free agent too,” Gabriel argues. “In a way. I can deny any contract Talon gives me. They also don’t seem to mind my rate, and Sombra doesn’t seem to mind covering my tracks. I just have to keep in touch with Moira until this...” he waves at his smoking body. “...is fixed.” 

“So, theoretically…” 

“We could work something out. Maybe.” Gabriel winces. “It won’t be easy, planning anything like this. Even communicating.” 

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “But… I miss my husband.” 

“I do too,” Gabriel admits. “It’s not what it used to be like, but…”

Jack nods and Gabriel gives him a small smile. He hesitates before saying something rash. “Hey. You wanna do another B&E with some pyrotechnics, for old time’s sake?” 

“Define ‘old time’s sake.’” 

Jack shrugs. “Omnic War, when we were idealistic and stupid.” _And so very, incredibly in love,_ he thinks. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing after this, and I’m guessing you’re going back to do contract work for Talon after we prevent another war. Again. Before we have to go back to protecting the world from itself, even if it doesn’t give a damn.” 

Reyes raises an eyebrow. “I _did_ catch a glimpse of a timetable last night. Looks like some of the R &D team of Schmidt-Schulz has a meeting that just happens to coincide with some of Ogundimu’s ‘personal vacations.’” 

“Sounds pretty serious. Any meetings in the near future?”

“Next week, actually.” Gabriel’s voice is casual.

“Their work day ends at around 1600, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” Reyes is full-out grinning, and Jack momentarily forgets how to breathe because _god_ , he’s forgotten how beautiful Reyes is when he smiles. “Also, there’s a Talon arms stronghold about fifty clicks from here. They’ve been stockpiling a lot of bombs lately.” 

Jack clicks his tongue and pretends to look thoughtful. “Doing a Talon raid in broad daylight. Sounds like a bad idea.”

\---

“This is the best fucking idea we’ve ever come to ever since we got married,” Jack pants breathlessly. The remains of the not-so-abandoned warehouse smoulder in the distance as he speeds himself and Reyes through the German highway.

“I want to be offended, but you’re probably right.” Gabriel pulls off his mask and shakes off his thick, acrid smoke. “Haven’t had this much fun since…. fuck, decades.”

“Today’s only going to get better.” The wind whips through Jack’s hair and feels a little lighter for the first time.

\---

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, since Schmidt-Schulz is just starting up and relying on dirty money to get off the ground), security around the building is just as lax as last night. Jack glances over to Gabriel and raises an eyebrow.

“Ready to raise some hell?” Jack asks.

“Always.” Gabriel examines a grenade and gives him a mischievous smile. “Leggo.” 

Breaking into the building again is child’s play. There’s the tell-tale thumping of security, Gabriel easily wraiths around the incoming guards to pull the fire alarm. Jack gives him a questioning look at Gabriel shrugs. 

“We’re just here to blow shit up, and it’ll give us less distractions.” 

_God, I love him so much,_ Jack thinks dreamily. It might be a little too soon, but having the spark back is thrilling nonetheless. He blinks hard, twice, before tossing a grenade at the security bots coming in at his six. The sound of the explosion shakes the building, temporarily drowning out the blare of the fire alarm. 

“Split up to cover more ground?” Jack shouts once he regains his hearing again.

Gabriel shakes his head. “Maybe I sound like a hopeless romantic, but I’ve always been fond of blowing shit up together.” 

“You got me there,” Jack says teasingly. “How about we find the floor with R&D?” 

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” 

It’s easier this time around to navigate the building. Even if the hallways still took random turns, forked into far too many paths, and the elevator directories were complete nonsense, the security omnics and humans still in the building didn’t even bat an eye as they all scurried to the exit. The mood felt almost comical as he and Gabriel stepped into the elevator, completely unphased by the chaos around them.

“R&D wing should be on the third floor after a hard left,” Gabriel says. “You know, I did something kind of similar a few months ago.”

“Really? Thought this kind of stuff would be juvenile arsonry for you.” 

“Talon asked me to break into Watchpoint: Gibraltar to stop the damn monkey from issuing the recall,” Gabriel says lightly. “I didn’t want a bunch of delusional vigilante kids running around getting in my way, so I took it. Not gonna lie, it was fun to trash the place.” 

“Ana joined them, you know.” 

“Did she?”

“For Fareeha.” 

Gabriel hums. “That makes sense. She’d follow her daughter to the ends of the earth. I don’t blame her.” 

“Really?” Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Fareeha’s a good kid.” Gabriel shrugs. “Plus, Ana has a sense of duty for people she loves, et cetera, et cetera.” 

“Huh.” Jack thinks about the last few years, chasing almost every possible lead and dropping out of his own carefully planned missions to follow a rumor that could conceivably be about the elusive Reaper. “I think I get it.” 

“Me too.” Gabriel turns his head towards Jack, and he can’t see Gabriel’s face through the mask, but it almost feels like Gabriel is smiling at him.

The elevator gives out a small _ding_ , revealing another pristine hallway branching out in too many directions. The rooms where the Talon-funded research is done is tucked away in the back, most likely away from prying eyes of other (less discreet) employees. 

“Alright, we have to be quick,” Jack says in a no-messing-around-tone. He picks up a sheath of papers scribbled with equations, circuits, and complicated designs. “This looks important.” 

“So does this.” Gabriel picks up what looks like a headpiece of a redesigned OR-14. He casually drops it onto the ground and stomps on it. “Oops.” 

“Who knew paper is so flammable?” Jack asks as he holds them against the flame of his lighter. They both snicker. “Okay, no more playing around. Ready to blow this place to hell?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Gabriel tosses him a few charges. “Catch.” 

They work in companionable silence, occasionally calling for the other’s attention to show him an absurd testing model or an increasingly elaborate way of destroying stray datapads and computers. 

“That’s the last of the charges, I think.” Gabriel peers into the empty bag before tossing it to the ground. 

“Time to go,” Jack agrees. 

The walk out of the building is almost surreal, like Jack’s walking on air. The outside of the building was crowded with employees and passerbys frantic to see what the commotion is about, so it’s easy for Jack and Gabriel to slip through the crowd once they take their masks off. Gabriel offers him the remote for the charges.

“Wanna do the honors?” 

“Would it be weird if I said I want to do this together?”

Gabriel laughs but nestles the detonator and his own hand Jack’s. “Yeah, but I think we could do weird.” 

Jack smiles and presses his free hand onto Gabriel’s face. His eyes are the wrong color -- crimson instead of a deep brown, almost black -- but they have the same warmth that made Jack fall in love in the first place. “To another global crisis averted. Kind of.” 

“Cheers.” With a final _click_ , the pristine, shiny glass building shatters and flames spill out of it. The sight of it all is hypnotizing and almost comforting, so it only feels natural to press his lips against Gabriel’s. Gabriel happily returns the kiss, and Jack can feel the slight curve of his mouth and a huff of laughter. 

The kiss ends reluctantly when someone herds the crowd in their direction, shouting something about safety. Jack drops the remonte on the ground and crushes it with the heel of his boot before tugging on Gabriel’s arm, snaking their hands together and giving it an affectionate squeeze. 

“Ready to go?” Jack asks. Gabriel gives him a radiant smile. 

“With you, anything,” he replies, barely audible over the din. 

For the first time in a long while, they walk away from the chaos, feeling nothing but content.

**Author's Note:**

> *screams for a million years*
> 
> again, special thanks to nat for beta-ing this fic and putting up with my dumb ass when i decided to ditch my original idea roughly two months before drafts were due and whined to her for a solid half hour. truly, her patience was legendary as i rejected every single fucking idea she tried to help me develop. also, huge thanks to zyloa for their amazing art and being an absolute pleasure to work with. i literally gasped when they showed me the finish product because i'm a dramatic bitch like that. 
> 
> also, a heartfelt apology to people who read my other stuff and the lack of updates for four months. a lot of big life changes has happened to me since april and i'm still sorting things out, but i will attempt to get a regular writing schedule... eventually.


End file.
